Only the Good Die Young
by SpecialParanoia
Summary: Sequel to 'Heroes'. Sometimes, a simple song on the radio can be so much more. Hotch/Reid friendship. More angsty-fluff. Now a two-shot to include something I missed.
1. Only the Good Die Young

**A/N: **This is a sequel to my previous fic, 'Heroes'. It's been quite a while since that was published, but it seems to still be rather popular judging by the story traffic, so here we finally are for anyone that is still curious. While I suppose this could stand alone, I would suggest reading that first if only because it sets a bit of a tone for this. (And let's face it- seeing that graph on the traffic page go higher and higher is a nice feeling ^.~)

**Disclaimer:** Sadly, they still do not belong to me. If they did, oh the possibilities...

* * *

**Only the Good Die Young**

For the first time in a week Aaron Hotchner walked with a slight bounce in his step, lips quirked in a permanent little semi-smile. The sun was already high and it had turned out to be a beautiful spring day, warm and bright with not a cloud in the very blue sky. A faint breeze would pick up every now and then, carrying the scent of freshly cut grass and cherry blossoms as it lightly ruffled his short dark hair.

'_It's a damn good day.'_

The quiet _whoosh_ of the automatic doors was nearly drowned out by a bird chirping loudly in a nearby tree as Hotch entered the hospital one last time. The nurse working at the reception desk looked up as he passed and offered a small wave that he happily returned, picking up his pace a little when he finally noticed the way her eyes slowly travelled down his body to watch his denim-clad posterior hustling to the elevators with much appreciation. _'Has she been doing that __**every day**__? Some observant profiler you are…' _he thought with chagrin. By the time the car reached the third floor, however, he'd decided to be flattered by the attention and, if possible, his mood brightened just a little more.

The way to Reid's private room was a bizarre maze of turns interspersed between long hallways that, until today, had truly tested the senior profiler's patience with each pass through; left from the bank of elevators, down the hall, turn right, next left, through the double doors, immediate right, all the way down the next corridor... and so forth in this frustrating pattern. Granted, at this point Hotch could walk it on autopilot, but all that meant was that his mind was free to wonder just why a building that runs on efficiency would put up with such an _in_efficient system.

'_Well, it __**is**__ a government funded hospital. If anyone knows a thing or two about inefficient systems…' _Hotch shook his head ruefully. He'd made a funny, and Morgan wasn't even there to show his slack-jawed awe and appreciation. _'What a shame.'_

He found the door to his subordinate's room closed when he finally approached, knocking politely in case he was with the nurse. The reply was soft but immediate, almost anxious, and Hotch couldn't help feel his smile stretch a little wider; though much of the past week had been spent in a pain and fever induced haze, the kid had still somehow managed to find the strength to be annoyed by the fact he was stuck in a hospital and let it be known to anyone that would listen when he was lucid enough to do so. Any company he had was more than appreciated, even if the attention tended to make him feel slightly embarrassed, but Hotch would bet good money the young genius was just itching to get out and go home.

Sure enough, when he walked in he was greeted by the sight of one Dr. Spencer Reid sitting on the very edge of his bed, legs swinging over the side and fingers tapping against the IV pole still attached to his left arm, skin just a bit too pale. He hadn't even been allowed to change out of the too-large gown and into real clothes yet, and yet he still looked ready to walk out the door that instant, if he could.

"Ready to blow this pop stand?" Hotch asked by way of greeting, one eyebrow lifted in amusement. Reid smiled widely, brown eyes sparkling with anticipation.

"You have no idea," he replied. "I've been fever free for approximately twenty-five hours and counting. I got up this morning and took a walk. I ate breakfast- _all_ of it. _Hospital food_ breakfast. They _have_ to let me go now, right?" If it weren't for the fact that he was completely serious, Hotch would have laughed outright. Reid's pleading tone was all too reminiscent of a certain four-year-old named Jack when bedtime rolled around, and combined with the swinging sock-feet and puppy dog eyes it was all the usually composed unit chief could do to swallow his mirth.

"Well, I certainly hope so. I'd hate to think I raided your apartment then came all the way here for nothing," he teased, tossing the duffel he'd been carrying onto the bed as he settled into a chair. Spencer snorted and rolled his eyes, muttering "Gee, thanks."

'_And he wonders why everyone calls him "Kid"…'_

A few minutes passed in comfortable silence, Reid fidgeting every so often and staring dolefully at the nearly empty bag of antibiotics attached to his IV. Hotch was just about to ask if the doctor had mentioned when he'd be releasing his young colleague when Reid cleared his throat nervously.

"You, uh… well, remember you said you'd tell me about the shooting when I went home?"

"Yes."

"Well… could you- I mean, will you tell me now?"

"You're not home, yet," Hotch pointed out.

"No, but I'm leaving today. What difference would a couple hours make?"

"Technically, you still won't be home in a few hours. Not _your_ home. I can hold out on you as long as I want." Genius baiting wasn't something Hotch would typically indulge in but, though he was knew it was probably unfair given the situation, this was just too easy.

Reid's eyes widened is disbelief, mouth hanging open while he sputtered.

"But, I- you… that- that's not fair! It's not like I asked to come stay at your place, Hotch! You're making me! And I really don't see why you won't tell me about it, anyway. You caught the guy, right? No one else was hurt? _I'm_ perfectly fine, and I'm not going to freak out or do anything stupid because of this… incident. I just want to know what happened."

"Doctor said you need to stay with someone for a few days. It was either me or Morgan, and I have more room at the house- we won't have to be in each other's hair if we don't want to be. If you'd rather make other arrangements, feel free to do so, but you will _not_ be going back to your apartment alone unless a doctor says it's okay." Reid looked like he wanted to comment, so Hotch leaned in and continued before he could be interrupted.

"No, _we_ did not catch the guy- DC metro got him before we had a chance. Didn't take them long, either. Had a message waiting for me after you were out of surgery. No one else was hurt, though, I promise.

"And I know you'll be fine. I trust you. It has nothing to do with that-"

"Then what _does_ it have to do with?" Reid interrupted, clearly frustrated.

"We did tell you. Twice. And you obviously don't remember it. Not surprising; I doubt you remember much of the past week- but you got rather upset. My guess is, it was the delirium more than anything. Your fever only continued to get worse, so we decided to wait until you were officially well."

"And now?"

"Now," a new voice proclaimed from the doorway, startling both profilers, "it's time we cut you loose, Dr. Reid."

Argument forgotten for the moment, Reid sat up a little straighter and flashed his doctor a relieved smile.

"Cut away!"

* * *

It was another hour before the agents were finally on their way, Spencer settled in the passenger seat of his boss's personal SUV. He was loathe to admit it, but between the morning's exercise and the excitement and fuss of finally being sent home, the genius was having a hard time keeping his droopy eyes open. The heat in the car wasn't helping, either; he'd been a little chilled when the fresh air hit him as he was wheeled outside, and so naturally his chauffeur and temporary housemate had cranked the heater up full blast. While it definitely felt nice to be _comfortably_ warm for once, he didn't want to be any more trouble than necessary, because he was fairly certain if he fell asleep now Hotch would have to carry him inside when they arrived. _'Probably not the best way to kick off this… __**adventure**__. Definitely need to stay awake. Maybe some music…?'_

He reached out a hand to turn on the radio but stopped short, shooting a questioning glance at his friend.

"Do you mind?"

"Having a hard time staying awake?" Hotch asked with a sideways glance and a smile playing on his lips. Reid blushed at his apparent amusement, wondering if he'd really been that obvious.

"Maybe," he muttered.

"Go right ahead- just as long as you don't put on any of Morgan's music."

Reid snorted, tuning the dial to his favorite classic rock station. "No worries." Soon the gravelly voice of Bruce Springsteen filled the car, Hotch tapping along on the steering wheel to an overplayed rock ballad as he surreptitiously watched his teammate.

Despite his best efforts and the help of the radio, Reid was fading fast. Each song that ended saw him wilting farther and farther down in his seat, his usually twitching and fidgeting fingers lying still in his lap. At some point in the ride he'd somehow managed to curl one of his long legs up underneath him in the small space, right knee angled against the door, and he looked so impossibly young that the father in Hotch couldn't help feel an overwhelming surge of anger and protectiveness. True, he was usually the first to remind others that Dr. Spencer Reid was very much an adult and therefore should be treated as such, but in reality he knew all too well just how young their 'kid' was in the grand scheme of things. He hated that they were in this position again, that Reid was again a victim, and truth be told all he really wanted to do was lock him away someplace safe, where he could keep an eye on him at all times and there were no guns or bombs or sociopaths that could possibly be drawn into whatever bizarre magnetic field that seemed to surround him.

'_Garcia keeps mentioning bubblewrap- I wonder if they could make that stuff bulletproof? Might just have to look into that before the kid actually gets himself killed…'_

As if in response to his thoughts, the upbeat piano of Billy Joel's 'Only the Good Die Young' came over the speakers, bringing a slight scowl to his face. The irony was disgusting and he had half a mind to change the station, even at the risk of possibly waking his sleeping companion, but to his surprise Reid sat up quickly and turned the radio off before the end of the first verse.

"Don't like that song?" he asked quietly. Reid was silent for a moment, swallowing hard.

"No." it was so terse, so controlled, so _tense_ that Hotch had to do a double take. The shift in mood, in attitude, was profound enough he didn't realize he was paying more attention to Reid than he was the road until he felt the SUV swerve a little to the left. _'Whoops…'_ Reid didn't even seem to notice. Not surprising, from the looks of him. He'd hunched in on himself, arms wrapped around his middle and fists clenched, eyes staring steadfastly at his lap, lips pressed tightly together while what he hoped was an embarrassed and not fever-induced flush added some much needed color to his cheeks. It was such a drastic change from the relaxed and happy, albeit tired demeanor of before he couldn't help worry that the doctors had made a gross error in judgment sending Spencer home. Something was clearly wrong.

"Reid?"

"Yes?" Still subdued, still quiet, but trying hard for normal.

"Are you alright?"

"Yes." He paused, clearly hesitant to ask. "Why do you ask?"

"You don't look well. Are you sure you're alright? Should we go back?"

"I'm fine. Just tired." Hotch sighed at that. Reid still wouldn't look at him, so he tried a different approach.

"How about this- I'll show you mine, if you show me yours."

"Huh?"

"I may be getting old, but I'm not blind and I'm not stupid. You reacted pretty strongly when that song came on- that's not like you. So, you tell me what's going on and I'll stop holding out on you about the shooting."

"That's not really a fair deal," Reid hedged. "You were going to tell me, anyway. Apparently it's only a question of when. And who says there's anything for me to tell? Maybe I just don't like that song. It _is_ pretty overplayed… no 'Piano Man', but radio stations are playing it like Billy Joel's going out of style."

"Reid…"

"What? I don't know what to tell you, Hotch. You're making something out of nothing. I'm tired, and I can't figure out if I'm hot or cold which frankly sucks because I only just got rid of that stupid fever and I thought I wouldn't feel like this anymore." It wasn't far from the truth, really. Hardly at all, in fact- he really had been about to doze off just moments ago, and while a chill still gripped him down to the bone, the air in the car was starting to become downright stuffy. The last thing he wanted to do was complain to the person who was doing so much for him, going so far as to open his home to him and take time from work to take care of him, but he wanted even less to have _that_ conversation.

He could practically feel his boss restraining the urge to roll his eyes and sigh yet again, knowing full well it was a feeble, if not desperate, explanation so when Hotch finally opened his mouth to speak he was fully expecting to be called out on or even reprimanded for it. What came instead surprised him.

"We had nothing to do with it, and you couldn't possibly understand how frustrating it was, and still is, for us. For me. It's my job to take care of my team; the others made it their job to take care of _you_. We not only failed to protect you, to keep you safe- _again_- but then we didn't even have a hand in catching the man who hurt you.

"Nothing was more important at the time than being there for you. None of us could have been anywhere else. Not until we knew you were going to be okay. I don't think any of us even gave any real thought to what we would do once we got word on your condition, once we'd seen you for ourselves, beyond maybe what we would _want_ to do to him after we found the man who shot you. But still, to know that we failed in even that, that we couldn't even bring you the justice you deserved… To feel so powerless when it's someone you care about…" He trailed off, taking a second to clear his throat.

"They picked him up about two hours after your 911 call came in. He'd tried to rob a convenience store a few blocks away and when he ran into you, he saw your badge and panicked. The idiot hijacked a car and drove himself to a pawn shop where he tried to hock the gun."

"But it's illegal to pawn a gun," Reid blurted out, a little confused. Hotch turned to stare pointedly at him while the pieces put themselves together. Reid let out a soft "Oh" when things clicked, eyebrows lifting a little.

"Yeah. Owner'd heard the sirens from the robbery, kept an ear tuned to his police scanner and put two and two together. He held a shotgun on him and kept him sitting tight until the police arrived. Simple enough. Guy may as well have turned himself in for all it took to find him.

"In all reality, we wouldn't have contributed much. You were a victim of circumstance, this time around. It's just harder to swallow when it's one of your own."

Reid was taken aback.

From the way the others had talked, he'd assumed things had gone as smoothly as they had, that it had been a simple matter of wrong-place, wrong-time… but the raw emotion in his usually so composed leader's voice, they way he gripped the steering wheel so hard his knuckles turned white, the grim set of his jaw and intense stare straight through the windshield came as a complete shock. Reid knew better than most how to read his superior, knew well that he was far from the stoic and humorless hard-ass the others seemed to think, and though he wasn't as demonstrative as the others he'd made it perfectly clear how equally upset and relieved he'd been over the course of the young man's rocky recovery. To put himself out there so plainly, though, was meaningful in many ways and Reid felt his resolve crumble. If Boss Man could let go and share something so powerful, the least he could do was reciprocate.

He heaved a deep sigh, clasping his hands together tightly and making damn sure to look everywhere but at the driver.

"That's the song they were playing in those videos," he said. "The DVDs of the… the girls. Sent to their mothers, in Florida. While they tortured- while he _raped_ them for that woman's sadistic pleasure. 'Only the Good Die Young'. Even if it hadn't been so appropriate, I still wouldn't be able to hear that song without thinking about it. About them." He could feel Hotch staring at him intently, but still he wouldn't look up. He didn't really want to see what kind of reaction he was getting, and chose instead to just keep plunging ahead.

"My parents, they had a pretty impressive music collection. The majority of it was on vinyl, and we had a really nice record player set up in our living room. It got a lot of use; music was a really big part of my childhood. I could always tell what kind of mood my mom or dad was in by what album they were playing. On her bad days, mom would put on Bob Dylan and just sit there with her notebooks, analyzing the lyrics. On good days, it was the Rolling Stones or Billy Joel. Sometimes the Beatles. When she was sad, Johnny Cash or Queen would be playing.

"When dad was home, and he was feeling romantic, he'd pull out his favorite Sinatra record and make mom dance with him. If they'd been fighting that day, he liked to listen to Otis Redding's 'Sittin' on the Dock of the Bay' because he said it was kind of like an escape, like he was sitting there too, watching the water. He could let it all go, and in a few minutes feel better again. But when it was too much, when he was depressed and frustrated he'd turn to Johnny Cash, too. I think ultimately, though, Bobby Darin got the most play from him. I don't really know if it was his favorite, or if it made for good background noise or what, but I can still remember every word of every song on that one. After everything we've seen on the job, though, I don't think I could listen to 'Mack the Knife' ever again. There's been enough of those in my real life…" He let the sentence trail, realizing he was rambling off topic, now. He coughed a little and sat up straighter, getting back to his original point.

"Anyway, I grew up with that song and now, after one case- one DVD and two sick, perverted UnSubs- I can't bear to listen to it, anymore. It will always be associated with violence, in my mind. With pain. Like Emily's list of places she won't ever go now includes backwoods motels, but mine's music.

"The song both father- and then son, decades later- played at their 'parties' when they would abduct women? In rural Virginia over a year ago? It was 'Honky Tonk Women' by the Stones. I remember because it was on one of my favorite albums, an early collection of their greatest hits. And Johnny Cash… man, he had an amazing voice. I always found it so powerful, it was so comforting to listen to him, but now it's just _painful_. Especially when I hear 'The Man Comes Around', all I can see is Owen Savage shooting those three boys and I just…

"It's difficult. I grew up with this stuff. It's important to me, to who I am, and with one violent act a complete stranger can just ruin everything. It isn't fair, Hotch," he said quietly, addressing his coworker for the first time since beginning his monologue.

This time, it was Hotch's turn to be taken by surprise. He'd never had any idea that Reid carried these things around with him, that he was so affected by such simple details of these cases. Of course, looking at it through his eyes, it was perfectly understandable he felt that way. It was really no different than any religious zealot perverting the bible, religion, to justify their actions. When you've seen the horrendous things one human being can do to another in the name of faith, your own is sure to waver a bit. Why shouldn't it be the same for anything that holds that kind of value in your life?

As he mulled over this revelation, an odd thought bubbled up from seemingly nowhere.

"When Garcia came back from visiting you that first night, we were curious why you'd ask for her, first. At the time it seemed a little strange- we all wanted to think we deserved it more than everyone else, somehow- and all she would tell us was that you wanted to set her straight. That Jakob Dylan was the son of God? Of everyone, she claimed Morgan would understand better than the rest of us, but he had no idea…" he chanced a look at his subordinate and was pleased to find the somber mood had vanished. In fact, the young genius seemed to be trying not to laugh out loud as he shook his head.

"Bob Dylan's God now, huh? Better than David Bowie, I guess," Reid muttered to himself. Hotch was clearly confused, so he elaborated.

"It was something she'd said to Morgan and I after she was shot. She told us she had heard David Bowie's 'Heroes' playing in her head while she was in the ambulance, and she joked that she remembered wondering to herself if Bowie was really God.

"Two years later, and I end up in a similar situation. I couldn't help but think of Garcia and what happened to her. The whole ride to the hospital, the paramedics kept yelling at me to stay awake and think of something that would keep me grounded and I'll be damned if I didn't think of that song. I've never really liked David Bowie, though," he admitted, shooting a soft smile at Hotch, "but I always liked the Wallflowers- maybe because the lead singer sounds so much like his father, Bob Dylan. At any rate, they'd covered 'Heroes' about ten years ago for a movie, and that was what came to me. It was just… too _appropriate_, and I was afraid I'd forget about it entirely if I didn't tell Garcia right away." A thoughtful look passed over his face, and just like that the smile was gone. He frowned a little, thinking aloud.

"I really liked that one. It was one of my favorites. I wonder if it'll just bring the pain back all over again, next time I hear it. Bowie's just reminds me of Garcia in the hospital…

They were pulling into the driveway of Hotchner's house by now, rolling to a stop as close to the front walk as he could get the massive vehicle. Killing the ignition, Hotch left the keys dangling there and sat back, resting a comforting hand on Reid's leg.

"I wish I could tell you not let this affect you so much," he said sorrowfully, trying to catch his friend's eye, "not to let it ruin something you love, but honestly? You make a damn good point, and now I'm not entirely sure I'll be able to listen to those songs anymore, either.

"What we do… it takes a lot out of a person. We all carry a bit of that horror away with us at the end of the day. It takes a different form for everyone, and none of us are affected by the same things, or to the same degree, as anyone else.

"You're right- it _is_ difficult. All of it. And it won't get any easier. I can't tell you not to let it get to you, to affect your life and the things you love so much, but I can tell you it helps if you let yourself enjoy what you have left. Your parents had an impressive collection of music? Use that. Hold on to it. Remember why it was so important to you and don't let yourself become so jaded that none of it can bring you comfort, anymore. You've got a list of four, so far. Four songs that mean something special to you, ruined by strangers whose actions touch far more lives than just their victims, the families, and for as long as you've been on the team four is a pretty big number.

"But Reid, I think you're letting those four have more power than they deserve. They're only four out of, what, hundreds? A thousand? Don't let something so small bleed out onto the rest. Don't let it spiral out of control until suddenly you can't so much as listen to the radio. It might sound ridiculous right now, to harp on something so trivial, but I can tell you from experience that that is exactly what will happen if you let it. So don't.

"And if you need any help with that, or even a reminder why it's so important, you know where to find us. Any time, day or night, we're all of us more than happy to help." He gave the knee under his hand a little squeeze and then withdrew his touch, giving Reid a few minutes of silence to digest everything.

"Well…" Reid finally responded, head tilted just slightly to the side, "that was quite a speech. That come to you on the fly, or do you have these saved up for any occasion?" There was a twinkle of humor in his tired eyes, but the shy and appreciative smile that graced his lips told the unit chief he got the message. Whatever tension may have remained from earlier dissipated completely and he let the moment pass. All the important things had finally been put out in the open and going over it any further would just be beating the proverbial dead horse. It was a light, comfortable atmosphere between them now, so he rode with it as they unbuckled their seatbelts.

"I may have a few general pep talks up my sleeve, but that one was one hundred percent brand new. You should feel special- I don't usually use so much brain power when I'm off duty."

"No comment," Reid grinned, finally succeeding in releasing his belt despite fumbling fingers. Hotch scowled good-naturedly in his direction and climbed out of the car, waiting for Reid to make it around the large SUV to put a supporting arm around his thin waist.

It was a slow trek to the front door, Reid leaning on his boss more than he would have liked, but he found that he didn't really mind accepting that support. Needing it, even. It was nice to have someone there to hold him up, someone so willing to take care of him, and after what had been said just moments ago he knew none of that would end once he was healed and healthy again. The team had always been there for him, Hotch included, but no one aside from Gideon had ever really sat down with him for a deep conversation. They weren't a group that willingly put their feelings on display, so for the most reserved of them all to put himself out there without hesitation was profound and touching.

'_Who knew a conversation about music and sociopaths could end in such a sappy, feel-good moment?'_ Reid thought as he let himself be settled on the living room couch. He kicked off his shoes and carefully laid down as Hotch ran out to grab his things from the car, calling back over his shoulder something about getting him some water- he couldn't really tell through his exhausted haze.

Sleep was descending quickly and he allowed himself one last indulgent smile before nodding off completely.

'_There are worse things…'_

_

* * *

_

**A/N:** If you couldn't tell, music greatly inspires me and I happen to have an eye for certain details. I don't know about anyone else, but this is definitely how I would feel if I were in Reid's shoes.

By the by, if anyone can think of another song that was featured prominently in an episode, (obviously not as background music), please let me know. I went by memory alone, so I'm curious how well I did.


	2. Here Comes My Girl

**A/N:** Decided I needed to do a bit of a follow up, as I was feeling like a bit of a heel for missing this one. It was pretty significant, considering my theme. Do try and be gentle: I whipped this one up in only half a day, and really just for posterity's sake, so it's not the greatest work. But, at least it's here.

Takes place post 'Soul Mates', season four. This is the plane ride home from Atlanta.

**Disclaimer:** Standard disclaimer applies.

* * *

"How're you doing?"

Reid looked up from his book, startled by Aaron Hotchner's sudden presence in the seat across from him.

"I'm sorry?"

Hotch smiled patiently, buckling his seatbelt and it was only then Reid realized the jet was beginning its descent into DC, the rest of their teammates in various stages of wakefulness as they too strapped in.

"I asked how you were doing. After this case…" Spencer blinked at him for a moment, clearly perplexed.

"Because it took place in Georgia?" he ventured. "I am starting to think good things can't happen there, but with our job it's looking like that's not really area specific." He gave a wry smile, tucking his hair behind his ear, but it faded quickly when Hotch laughed. The typically stoic Unit Chief ran a hand over his eyes and settled back into the chair, shaking his head.

"That really isn't where I was going, but I suppose you make a point. Georgia doesn't carry much in the way of good memories for you. Although, there was a certain bartender, if I'm not mistaken." Hotch paused, raising his eyebrows suggestively. Reid shrugged his shoulders and looked away, a small shake of the head side to side and pink cheeks telling his boss everything. The smile faltered and he cleared his throat, quickly getting back to the original subject. "At any rate, I was referring to the UnSubs. Their… means of communication. Tom Petty?"

Soft brown eyes snapped back up in surprise. He let out a soft _"Oh"_, the blush deepening a little as things clicked into place, and he fidgeted in his seat while he thought about it.

"Um, I don't really…" he started after a few moments. "I don't know. I guess I never really liked Tom Petty? I mean, I recognized the song- 'Here Comes My Girl', which I'll admit is perversely appropriate- because my dad sometimes indulged in Tom Petty. It was a guilty pleasure for him. But honestly? I haven't heard that song since I was a kid. And I don't plan to, anyway." He paused, biting his lip in contemplation. "Of course, wouldn't it be just my luck if radio stations suddenly decided to make it popular?"

Hotch chuckled, nodding in agreement. He was pleased to see his subordinate was being entirely sincere about what he was saying. That this was one case, one song and memory he'd be able to let go of. After their conversation months ago, he'd been downright appalled that this had to be the way their two killers communicated, immediately worried over how his youngest agent would handle the aftermath now that yet another piece of music was ruined for him. Truth be told, he himself had had a hard time turning on the radio after that little revelation into Reid's psyche. For all the 'look-on-the-bright-side' jargon he'd spouted off at the time, he couldn't deny the kid had a point and it was hitting home for him, too.

Such a simple thing , taken by granted by most, was quickly becoming Hotch's new worst fear for the kind, innocent, selfless but oft-targeted and abused genius. It wasn't fair that one thing he truly held dear from his childhood could be so easily perverted into something foul and ugly. He deserved more. From the moment they finally coaxed that bit of information from Sicko Number One, the moment he heard the word 'song', Aaron was positively itching to talk to Reid before a pep talk couldn't do any good. It took a little longer than he would have liked, trying to find a quiet time to converse with him without anyone dropping eaves, but now that he had it was a supreme relief to find that he needn't have worried. Even if it was only this one time, Spencer Reid might actually be able to walk away without any new scars.

That's not to say Aaron Hotchner would be turning up the Tom Petty any time soon.

"Anyway," Reid began, startling him out of his musings, "do you know what I did the other night?"

Hotch just looked at him for a moment, thrown by the sudden topic change.

"Nothing questionable, I hope."

Reid smiled shyly, eyes twinkling in a way that clearly said he wouldn't mind toying with his boss a little, but eventually sense won out and he leaned forward slightly with his elbows on the table between them.

"I listened to an album. 'Hot Rocks'." Hotch just stared blankly at him, not comprehending where this could possibly be heading, so Reid clarified, "The Rolling Stones. Greatest hits from 1964-1971."

The wheels were turning, albeit a little slowly. He was sure the answer had to lie somewhere in what they'd discussed on the way home from the hospital; it was too specific to just come out of nowhere, so there must be a reference point somewhere in the dregs of his memory. The problem was in pulling it out. He was tired, and the last case hadn't been kind to anyone, so it was slow going dredging up all the details. Reid plainly saw the moment his boss puzzled it together.

"One of your favorites as a kid. It had…"

"It _has_ 'Honky Tonk Women', yeah. And I listened to it. The entire album, pretty much. I tried listening to that song, too- I really did. Got halfway through, even, before moving on. But I did it. And you know what?"

"What?" Reid smiled widely.

"It's still a great album," he answered, then relaxed back into his seat again. There were a few small bumps as the jet touched down, and soon they had taxied up to the terminal and were exiting the aircraft with haste born of the siren calls of their respective beds. Hotch made a point to swallow the urge to grin like a fool as he and Reid made their way out together, glad the BAU's boy-genius had taken his words to heart even if it took a while to act on them.

'_Good to know I can still teach the kid a thing or two.'_

They crossed the tarmac side-by-side, heading to one of the two giant black SUVs that would return them to Quantico and their own vehicles, the rest of the team bickering good-naturedly behind them. Hotch hitched his bag a little higher on his shoulder and turned to Reid in mild curiosity.

"Did you keep your parents' record player, then?"

"Huh?"

"You said you listened to the album. When someone says that, I think records, and your parents had a nice record player. Are you that old school, or was it a remastered copy?"

"'Old school'?" Reid laughed. "Well, I did keep the record player, and I do like records but… It was actually sort of both."

"Both?"

"I listened to the original album, scratches and all, on my computer." Hotch furrowed his eyebrows at him, feeling like he'd missed something. "Two words- Digital. Turntable. Turns all your vinyl into digital format. Welcome to the age of technology."

"Wow. That's a great idea. They really make that?" Reid nodded.

"You could borrow mine sometime. Transfer the 'White Album', maybe..?"

Hotch glanced over at his colleague, noting the wicked gleam in his eye as he picked up his pace.

"Reid, what have you and Dave been talking about?" The faintest hint of a smirk was his only answer. "_Reid?"_

"Think of it this way, Hotch-" Reid couldn't keep the humor out of his voice, staring steadfastly forward as he spoke. "Do that, and you could have 'Everybody's Got Something To Hide Except Me And My Monkey' with you all the time."

Silence. A few faltering steps. Seconds of feeling those steely dark eyes boring into the side of his head, then,

"_Dave!"_

_

* * *

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**A/N:** Just a bit of fun. This is officially the end... unless I missed something else. ;)


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